Watching
by SomewhereBeyondReality
Summary: Set after the end of Season 5. Sequel to Second Chances. Basically what the title says: Marcus and Susan watch one another, unaware of the others thoughts... M/I drabble. Oneshot.
1. Chapter 1: Marcus POV

**Watching **

**Chapter One:**

On the first night neither of them will fall asleep.

It's not 'sleeping together' in the truest sense of the word. On the other hand you could say it's sleeping in the _most_ true sense of the word.

Marcus wonders if those two statements make any sense at all.

Whatever the case they're certainly not doing what everyone suspects.

It's been over nearly a month since he was 'resurrected'. Susan's admitted the nightmares aren't going away. Of course he asked if a teddy bear would help and things kind of lead of from there.

This is why they've now got two bodies crammed into a single bed. Both refusing point blank to fall asleep.

He has no idea how this stupid competition began but it doesn't look like its going to end anytime soon.

Susan's lying opposite him – if three centimetres between their faces can count as 'opposite'. One of his hands is a firm presence against her back and the other pressed to her hair. Both stroke methodically – see if that will get her to drop of.

Well there are no rules in this game.

Susan seems to have taken the teddy bear offer literally. She's got her arms clasped around his neck in a metal grip. Her nails dig into the skin. Perhaps she's trying a different tact – to scare him to unconsciousness.

Or maybe she just doesn't want to let go anymore than he does.

His suspicion hardens to certainty as she shifts her willowy body closer to his.

"It's cold." Is the explanation to his enquiring look.

He considers offering to turn the heat up and then pulls her closer, head in the crook of his neck. "Mmm, maybe you're right."

He'd never have penned Susan Ivanova as a night gown type – more like military pyjama's but here she is, clad in black silk, long legs bare. He's certainly hasn't got any complaints but pauses before uttering a compliment.

Maybe best to wait until she's actually unconscious. Don't want to scare her off.

In the end Marcus never knows who won the challenge but there's a factor she hasn't considered: the awakening.

Because one thing he got right is that Susan Ivanova is _not _a morning person.

A testament of growing up on a mining colony his sleeping patterns are about as regular as Lithiop's moons: waking up before dawn is hardly unusual.

His eyes snap open, gazing at the shadowy ceiling high above him. The Minbarii are fond of the cathedral look; apparently a closed in room entitles a closed in mind. Something along those lines.

Marcus rolls his eyes at the thought and yawns before propping himself up on one elbow, a smile growing as he studies the woman next to him.

She's rolled over in the night so her back's turned, shoulder's hunched, arms wrapped around herself.

He can recognise a classic defensive manoeuvre and wonders how much she must have practiced to bee on guard even in her sleep.

Marcus sighs and settles deeper into position as his eyes adjust to the dark.

_This _is why he was so determined to win; just to be able to _watch _her uninterrupted.

He knows of the Minbarii tradition that the betrothed female must watch her chosen male for three nights as he sleeps.

This isn't exactly the same; he's the male for one thing and no doubt Susan would have him dragged out by his beard if he proposed watching her for three nights long but he'll take what he can get.

He starts with only his eyes at first:

His gaze traces her long hair spread across the pillow like strands of pale flame; he's always scoffed at the theory that red heads mean fiery tempers but for her it certainly rings true.

The locks streaked with grey: Age slowly disintegrating looks but to him it only makes her more beautiful.

Beauty is not something for the infant to acquire. A fashion to be earned and held only in youth and lost year by year.

True beauty comes naturally and remains until the day of death and after. And she has it. Neither wrinkles nor worn skin can change that.

It's cliché to say 'beauty is on the inside' but sometimes one cannot find word on their own powerful enough to convey the glory of reality and must revert to quoting.

This is one of those times.

Marcus would be willing to bet even the Minbarii poets and deceased G'Kar would struggle to express what he's seeing now.

If he's being honest he does mind the grey hairs a little: because he knows there are too many for one so young.

Few people know Susan's real age and if he told them they'd probably commit him to med lab for examination. They'd never believe someone of fifty one could have gained such position and strength in so short a time. She'd driven herself too hard, endured too much pressure, upheld too much responsibility.

There are times when he would happily cut each glint of silver away, smooth out the wrinkles just to give her back those carefree years lost.

Finally surrendering to temptation Marcus reaches out to brush her cheek with the back of his hand.

The touch is so soft he can barely feel her cheekbones under the pressure and she doesn't even flinch.

Getting bolder he traces her profile with the tip of his finger. Starting at her forehead, down the angular nose, very lightly over moist lips and under the chin.

Tickling isn't a good idea so he continues up her jawbone, brushing away locks of hair to caress surprisingly small ears.

Everything hidden about Susan is a surprise. In forcing her strongest elements on show; everything soft, everything vulnerable, everything gentle is hidden behind the curtain.

Creating a whole other persona just waiting to be revealed.

Waiting for someone else to unmask.

And yes, he is arrogant enough to think that person might be him.

He leans forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. The indelible seal.

Woman may not be property but he at least wants a mark, claim a fraction of her as _his. _

As though she senses his thoughts, Susan rolls back over, burrowing into his chest. He grins smugly and wraps his arms around her waist. Still lost in the realm poised between conscious and unconscious her eyes slide open, and gaze at him hazily.

"You'd better not be _still _awake."

"Been here all night long."

She scowls, "Idiot." A punch in the shoulder. Even half asleep the abuse doesn't stop.

"But what the hell," she sighs sleepily, squirming into position again. "I give up. You win."

Within seconds her eyes are closed though a hand laces around his bony wrist.

Marcus chuckles, planting one final kiss on her lips.

Maybe there's hope he'll be able to do this again after all.


	2. Chapter 2: Susan POV

**Watching**

**Chapter Two:**

She likes to watch him.

Susan's never been the sort to sit around mooning.

In none of her previous relationships (what few ones there were) has she been content to simply observe any man.

She's always been the stone sculpture: hard, untouchable, practical – solid to the core.

With Marcus it's different.

He's unleashed a soft core that she never even knew existed. He calls her his peppermint cream.

Spiky and hard on the outside but smooth and sweet within. She hits him when he uses that analogy.

But that inner core is one that also blushes at those types of comments. (Though she controls it in front of the Rangers).

That inner core will turn to mush when he gazes at her across the room.

And that inner core will spy on him from one of the windows at the Ranger's training outpost.

He's organized a football game for some of the younger Rangers; the ones barely out of their teens. It's mostly humans but there are some Minbarii and scatterings of the other races.

_Football_ though?

Just the mention of the game sets her teeth on edge. So English. He's only been Entil'zh for about five weeks. Now technically alive for three months and most of them are still in awe over his resurrection months before _that_.

She knows this is a ploy to try and stop them staring fixedly at the ground whenever he opens his mouth.

Right now though Marcus has got the ball and is streaking down the 'field'. One brave player dares to try and intercept but falls back quickly as her friends gesture furiously. So with pin point accuracy he slams the ball (wherever he got that from) into the net and...goal.

She resists the urge to cheer.

However on turning back the expression is not flushed with the glory of victory she'd expect. In facts it's scowling.

He grabs the ball and waves his arms around, gesturing for them to gather round. Curious Susan leans closer to listen.

"Alright you lot, listen up." The English accent is carrying. "There were at least five of you that could've stopped me there – don't pretend I didn't notice because I did."

He frowns round at them and some of them drop their heads like wilting lilies.

"I may be your Entil'zh and yes in training I expect perfect respect but right now: We are playing _football_." He emphasises the last words with national pride. "And I am just another player: not some Greek God. Unlike Zeus I will not bring lightning bolts down to wipe you off this planet if you accidentally knock me over. Nor will I have your liver eaten day by day."

He only garners blank looks after that comment and clears his throat quickly.

"Anyway my point is I do not want a five metre space around me every time I have the ball. You:" He points at the girl who tried to intercept. "That was good; keep it up and I might make you a captain sometime."

She flushes red with pleasure and the others look embarrassed.

"Now let's try that again."

A smile blossoms on Susan's face as the game begins again. Perhaps they take the order's a bit too enthusiastically: Marcus gets knocked down more times than she was aware is normal but even rolling in the mud she can detect the glint of his grin against dark hair.

The Narn's seem especially adept to the game; picking it up so quickly she wonders if they've already received private training. The Minbarii are the worst; usually too busy apologizing for getting in the way to have a chance of grabbing the ball.

"And game!" Marcus struggles to his feet, flicking sweating hair out of his eyes.

"I do believe you have all completed your first session to the life changing experience of football. You should be proud."

They look pleased but uncertain and he smiles reassuringly.

"Alright, you can go now. But I expect everyone in this training base to have heard about the upcoming game next week. Word of mouth and all that."

They peel off in pairs laughing and Susan slips out of the door towards the lone figure clearing up the make shift goal posts.

"Well. That was quite a match."

"Not up to World Cup standard yet but they'll get there." He wipes a weary hand across his face. Even now still grinning. "I see you managed to time your arrival perfectly so you didn't actually have to play."

"I'll teach you a different kind of game in a minute if you keep suggesting things like that." She shrugs as they trudge back. "Besides I don't think I have the approachability you do. They're all too scared of me."

"And who's faults that?" He digs her in the ribs which she endures with the air of martyrdom. "I can't really blame them."

"Well if you'd like to –" She trails off. Eyes narrowing as she focuses on a streak of red trailing from his lip. "You're bleeding!"

"What?" His reaches up to feel, fingers stained. "Oh, yes. There must've been a rock in the ground. Or someone kicked me."

"Of course; you can't even play a game of football without coming away with some kind of injury. Here:" She digs around in her pocket. (It's surprising how many pockets these robes have). "Use this." She passes over a crumpled tissue.

Marcus dabs it ineffectively and Susan sighs in exasperation. It's a miracle this man even survived the first ten years of his life. "Let me do it." He hands it over meekly and she places her hand on his shoulder, forcing him to sit on a low bench.

"So you learnt football at school?"

"Part of every good English boy's education. Well that or cricket. And don't even get me onto that."

She presses the tissue gently to the scratch while another part of her mind wonders when she got so maternal. There's hardly a mark and she's fussing like a mother hen.

"Were you on a team?"

He chuckles wryly. "Hardly. I spent most school years being dragged out of some corner of the playground, my books thrown in the dust. Excellent training for reconnaissance work. You learn to slip around unnoticed."

"You? Unnoticed? Sure."

"Then again half the time I was being dragged around due to – how did they put it – being a smart arse."

Now that she can picture. Something else occurs to her.

"You read a lot; I wouldn't have thought being on a mining colony like Arisa you'd get much of a chance."

"Blame that on my mother." The side of his mouth not being treated pulls up in a crooked grin. She adjusts the pressure irritably.

"Arisa certainly wasn't her ideal location of residence but she put up with as long as Will and I got a decent education and didn't end up like the rabble. She enforced that ambition rather...over zealously."

He looks thoughtful now. "Not that I minded; unlike most of my contemporises I didn't see military service as a route to the future as much as a road straight to living hell."

"That's funny." Susan said quietly. "For me it was a road out of it."

His eyes lock with hers and she can read understanding in the deep irises.

She had once heard that the classic 'opposites attract' was a myth. That when you fall in love, you unwittingly choose people with similar experiences to your own. Often it's merely the reaction, the cover, that's different.

Susan shrugs that thought away and applies intense focus to his lip. Marcus with his uncanny ability to feel her moods often she does, continues talking in the usual light tone.

"Of course then after my compulsory enlistment I took over the family business. Never wanted to:" He mused thoughtfully, gaze staring upwards. "But Will was gone gallivanting and it was important to mum and dad."

He glances at her. "I always was the responsible one – don't know if you can believe that either: the one who over thought everything. But then...then the Rangers taught me to act rather than just think; because one day I didn't have anything left worth worrying about anymore." His tone is even and calm but his gaze has dropped to the ground.

Susan pauses in drawing away to look at him. No doubt she looks like a moonstruck fool but somehow she can't force her muscles to move.

The blood is almost all gone, just a dried patch under his lip, his dark hair is messy – she resists the urge to run her fingers through it – and robes are splattered with mud. As far from the dignified Entil'zh as you can get. He'd fit right in at a convention for wandering tramps.

But despite this something about it catches her breath.

There's always been something about Marcus, underneath the light hearted air. Like flowers or moss covered a rock his cheerful, humble appearance cloaked a deeper nature of immovable strength and will.

His compassion and free spirit. His hard work and determination (well he was a stubborn as hell that was true). His generosity and fearless honesty (hadn't he just spouted his life story?). His courage and idealism.

And most of all his unquenchable _hope_ – something they had and still depended on unnoticed and unappreciated – was uncountable.

She knows the other reason why he'd organized this game of football – starting to train as a Ranger was a challenge to say the least and he wanted to give the new ones at least some sense of security – of community.

Unlike her; storming through emotionless and aloof he was truly able to show he _cared. _

He was so incredible, so _much_ and he was _hers. _

Well sure he was a pain.

He twittered and gabbled, talked in codes and quotes, spouted the most inappropriate comments, wore that annoying smirk, chuckled when it was serious, ruined a good laugh and most definitelyqualified as – yes, a smart arse –but beyond all of that...

Beyond of all that it was taking every ounce of her self control to resist kissing him right now.

Susan straightened and screwed the tissue in her fist. "Let's go." She said firmly. "We have to meet with Delenn soon."

But of course he knew. He always did. He didn't say a word as they walked back but his hand brushed hers, the gentle touch sparking electricity. Silently Susan linked her fingers with his for the briefest squeeze.

Watching is good but this is better.


End file.
